Defeat
by Wespe
Summary: A most unusual encounter. Warning: character death.


A sharp pain overwhelms his senses. He feels the piercing edge of the cold blade mercilessly tear through his body. He respires as all his mortal strength departs him in one sudden gasp. The steel sunk deep inside him is quickly retracted from the burning wound. He tumbles to the ground, his crimson blood instantly blackening his white shirt.

No longer able to endure, his palm releases the hilt. The sword falls forlorn through the darkness of the urban twilight. It clatters against the hard pavement of the abandoned city street, the twang of its perfectly tapered point echoing like a bell amongst the pulsing sound of his ever slowing heart-beat.

He clutches his hemorrhaging gash as he gazes over the inlaid steel of the rapier that had served him so well, thinking over exactly what he had done wrong. Had he been too slow? Had his form been off? Or was it the sheer balance of luck and fate that had brought him to this miserable end? Was it really worth knowing? It all mattered so very little now.

In the faded hue of the twilight dusk, he sees the darkened silhouette of his adversary step into the temporal rays of the street light above. With a casual ease he wipes the blood off the blade with a small cloth produced from his pocket. He sheaths the weapon as he proceeds to tower like a mighty conqueror over his hated anathema.

He had dreamed of this moment many times. At first, it had been but a novel idea, a fantasy, some passing thought to occupy his time. Now it was real. Now he could see the proof of his plan before him; the residue of his design, as clear as the crimson blood which flowed freely from the wounds he had just inflicted. Finally, it was he who stood in triumph. And it was he, his enemy, who was forced to watch; utterly powerless to stop him.

As he relishes his victory a sadistic grin slowly creeps over his lips. He sees the bitter tears of anguish rolling down the cheeks of his vanquished foe and looks on with delight at the suffering he has caused. His smiles broadens into a smirk of contempt for this 'rival'. "You knew this would happen" he sneers, "You were foolish to have even thought you could beat me."

He languishes on the concrete in unbearable pain. He looks up to see his victor's teeth piercing like daggers through his cruel smile. He shudders, his life force draining away from him fast. He grows cold on the burning side-walk, as his face turns as pale as the moon overhead. He lifts up his arm, writhing in agony, and holds out his hand to his adversary. "Please...help..."

He turns up his nose in amusement at his pathetic gesture of mercy. "He's breathing out his last." he says with more than a hint of satisfaction.

There is nothing but pain and confusion in his features. "Why?" he asks in one feeble breath.

The smirk branded upon his face suddenly turns into angry scowl. "Why? Why! Because you torment me and I want you dead. That's why!"

His harsh rebuttal is answered only with the innocent and bewildered stare of the dying youth. "I...I was your only friend."

That word riles his anger into spite."Friend! What kind of person harasses me at all hours, stalks me from day to night, and then dares to call himself my 'friend'?"

His eyes are filled with tears of unspoken passion as his voice grows fainter, "Don't you understand...I was the only person who ever liked you. Who ever...loved you. And now...now you've killed me and there will be no one left. You'll be all alone."

He spits on him. "Like I need you."

He looks on with a knowing stare,"You do, and I think know it all too well."

He prepared to speak one more bitter diatribe, but his rage was suddenly muffled in one expedient instant. He recoils, looking down at his feet. He had in that one breath cut him more deeply than any sword, for he knew the words were all too true.

"And with my death...you have ensured your own."

He turns away. He can't bear to look at him anymore. The sudden revelation of his own mind was too much to bear. Underneath that lonely lamp post on the deserted alley the only words he could utter in that brief silence was: "I don't love you...I don't love you." Over and over again he repeated it, the fresh tears now streaming down his own cheeks.

When he turned around to look back at his foe, he had yielded up the ghost. His eyes stared up into the starry night sky above him, his pale face lifeless and stiff.

With a tangible grief, he slowly treads over to the body. Its soul had left it, but he nuzzles his face against his. He whispers delicately into his ear that could no longer hear. "I'm sorry." He gives him a single solitary kiss on his forehead and shuts his eyes that can no longer see. "I'm sorry...Dib."

In the waning hours of the quiet evening, he stood there in grief filled sorrow. His enemy had been right; he had ensured his own death. For when he killed the human, he had killed a part of himself. So that in the end he was still was only to taste the bitter fruits of defeat. His foe had snatched victory from him when it appeared so close, and left him only a shell of the once proud invader he once was.


End file.
